For months now, our block has been filled with the noise and rumbling of trucks. Early mornings and late afternoons, the sound of jackhammers echoes against the houses, and clouds of dust hang in the air. Sidewalks have been broken open, bricks stacked in messy piles, and heavy machinery has torn up whole sections of pavement—only for the workers to return the next day and carefully pour new cement, smooth and fresh.
Before every stage, though, I noticed something curious: the workers spray-paint bright colored lines and symbols on the pavement. Red, white,orange, blue. Every few days new lines and new colors. At first glance, they look like random scribbles—careless streaks cutting across the sidewalk.
But to the workers, each mark is purposeful. Those lines are their guide. They tell them where to dig, what to avoid, and how to rebuild the underground systems that keep everything flowing. Without those markings, all the digging and pouring would collapse into chaos.
It struck me that this is exactly what Rosh Hashana is about. On the surface, it can feel special but different, even random. Our familiar routines get shaken up, our schedules change, we spend long hours in shul, and we hear the piercing call of the shofar.
But like the paint on the pavement, these acts aren’t random. They are the marks that guide us through the deeper work of renewal. Chassidic thought teaches that on Rosh Hashana, Hashem “redraws the lines of creation,” refreshing the channels of Divine energy that flow into the world for the year ahead.
Our prayers, our choices, even our thoughts become the spiritual markings that determine where blessing will flow, what must be avoided, and what new structures can be built in our lives. What may seem like simple gestures on the surface—hearing the shofar, dipping apples in honey, walking to Tashlich—are in truth the guideposts for the year to come.
And just as the workers cannot pour new cement until the rubble is cleared away, we too must make space for new blessing. That’s why one of my favorite moments of Rosh Hashana is Tashlich, when we walk to the water to symbolically “throw away our sins.”
As my husband reminds our congregation each year: don’t just cast away your mistakes—also let go of the hurts, the grudges, and the resentments. Because if the rubble isn’t cleared, the fresh foundation can’t be laid. Rebuilding is noisy, messy, and inconvenient.
But if we trust the process, we end up with sidewalks and underground systems that are smoother, stronger, and built to last. So too with the spiritual work of Rosh Hashana. The prayers, the rituals, the shofar blasts—they may feel like surface markings, but in truth they guide us to dig deep, clear space, and build something enduring inside.
May this year grant us the wisdom to draw our “lines” with clarity, the courage to clear away what doesn’t serve us, and the blessing to see new foundations of joy, peace, and health firmly set in our lives.
Ketivah v’Chatimah Tovah — may you and your loved ones be inscribed and sealed for a year overflowing with goodness and blessing, with peace and an end to suffering, for all.